


The year things changed: A retrospection

by craploadsofawesome



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-09 05:48:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5528378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/craploadsofawesome/pseuds/craploadsofawesome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My senior year. Or, as Reese likes to call it, the year everything changed. I suppose that is one way of putting it.<br/>I like to call it the year everything went to hell. The year life sucked me in, and spit me out on my ass. The year everything in my carefully sculpted world, with people and places set in a perfected routine disrupted in utter chaos, and took me along for the ride.<br/>Sameen Shaw does not need friends. Neither does she need a purpose, as Harold is often fond of saying. What she definitely doesn't need, is a girlfriend. However, by the end of her senior year, she winds up with all of the above, and much more.<br/>OR<br/>How Shaw found that even if happiness was a concept that she didn't necessarily understand, it didn't mean she couldn't experience it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sometimes, good things come out of nowhere

_Let’s be clear, I’m only doing this because of my guidance counselor._

_Nothing more, nothing less. I am certainly not one of those kids who needs to write out their feelings in a stupid journal regularly to deal with their useless teenage angst, because A) I don’t have any teenage angst and B) I don’t do feelings (although the second point is kind of called into question throughout the length of this story by a variety of people). It’s just that Harold is kind of beginning to grow on me, and before you start harping on me about hero-worship and looking up to him or any other phrases that in any way imply that I care about whether he lives or dies, I’d like to clarify that he’s okay. Over a long period of time that I’ve spent sitting with him in his office with thousands of books littering the dusty shelves, I’ve sort of been observing and analyzing the guy, and I’ve come to the conclusion that he’s actually pretty cool, despite his owl impression and nerdy glasses. So yeah, he’s growing on me, and I tolerate him (which, by the way, is more than what I can say for the rest of the idiots at our school), and that is the only reason I’m writing down everything that happened to me this year._

_My senior year. Or, as Reese likes to call it, the year everything changed. I suppose that is one way of putting it._

_I like to call it the year everything went to hell. The year life sucked me in, and spit me out on my ass. The year everything in my carefully sculpted world, with people and places set in a perfected routine disrupted in utter chaos, and took me along for the ride._

_You know the worst part? In retrospect, I don’t think I hated it all that much._

                                                                      *****************

You know how in cheesy high school movies, to make it seem like an authentic school or whatever, they always start or conclude a scene with the ringing of the class bell? Yeah, I’m not going to do that.

Because it’s stupid. And overused. And clichéd.

But mostly because the bell shows people either going to class, or coming out of class, and class is not something I’m interested in recording (although some moments in a classroom might be featured here). Class is just an interlude. A break from real life. It is what happens before and after it that makes up the actual story.

My story begins with a bang. Or, more specifically, banging Lambert’s head against the surface of the nearest wall.

“Ouch!”

“Did you just say ‘Ouch’? Or has the pleasure of beating you up finally made my organs go haywire? Because, let me tell you, hearing an ‘ouch’, whimpered out in your pretentious accent is the best thing to happen to me all morning.”

“Let me go, Shaw,” he said, all gritted teeth and prissy attitude, even with the right half of his face smushed against the bricks.

“Why?”

“Because I haven’t done anything to you.”

He was telling the truth. He hadn’t done anything to me, yet.

“Or planning to do anything to me? Like spray-painting my car?”

He stiffened “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“No? I suppose the can of spray paint lying at the bottom of your locker doesn’t ring a bell, then, or…..”

“That doesn’t have anything to do with…..”

“The two goons of your gang I saw loitering around the area of the parking lot I park my car in…..”

“So what….”

“Or”, I sighed, releasing my tight grip on him, and turning him around so he could face me “Maybe you don’t remember bragging about what you were going to do in front of Martine.”

“How the hell did you even hear us?”

“See, Jeremy, that’s the thing. I hadn’t.”

And then, assured that what I was doing was in fact justified, I proceeded to beat the crap out of him.

I mean, not actually. What with being in school and all. I gave him a chance to fight back, and the idiot couldn’t even swing a punch right. So I knocked him around a bit, and left him propped up against the trash can, clutching his stomach and groaning. Wimp.

                                                                      *****************

The kids in our school can be roughly divided in two groups- the ones who matter, and the ones who don’t. It might seem callous to some people, my dismissing somebody like that, but it’s true. Some people exist, some don’t. In my life, anyway. And that’s okay, I guess, because I probably don’t interfere in somebody’s life too, and I’m fine with that. There are going to be people who know you breathe in their world. And if they are worth it, someday you will more than exist to them. You will matter. You will belong.

                                                                       *****************

_“Can I just mention how interesting and profound this last observation was, Miss Shaw? It seems that retrospection is bringing out quite the philosopher in you. I’m glad……..”_

_I smirk inwardly, thinking of all the hours I spent thinking of something really corny to write, that would impress Harold enough to make him believe that I could actually be capable of emotional stuff._

_“That your creative writing skills have improved enough to the point of writing fiction and almost getting away with passing it off as the truth,” he completes, peering at me sternly over his glasses._

_Right. Crap._

_Mustering up all the defiance inside me, I face him head on “So, what you don’t think I believe all that I wrote there?”_

_“Oh, I do think you believe all that you wrote back there. I just don’t think you know it yet.”_

                                                                       *****************

Back to the point, the people who mattered could further be demarcated into The Totally horrible Guys and the Not Totally Horrible Guys. The not completely horrible guys were John Reese and his gang of _good people,_ namely Joss Carter, Kara Stanton and Lionel Fusco. Among those three, John and Carter were the ones who could actually take care of themselves, so it was scrawny  and nosy little Fusco who almost regularly got dumpster’ed and had to wait for the rest of his friends to fish him out. I should know, seeing as I was one of the people who had put him there more than once for asking me stupid questions.

John was, well, _John._ There was no other way to put it. He was the guy who, when we were kids, used to assist me while shooting pebbles at people’s kneecaps with our catapults (although he constantly insisted it was the other way around; that _I_ was the one assisting him), and who grew up to become one of the best quarterbacks ever in the history of Aberford High. We move in different circles in school, and while I must have punched almost every jock, he was the one guy I’ve never touched, maybe because a part of me recognized him as a kindred spirit (again, he says it’s because I was scared of him, which, yeah, right). Kara and Carter had a reputation as female badasses, Kara being the more violent of the two, while Joss preferred a diplomatic approach. Lionel was an idiot. He’d always been an idiot and would always be an idiot, at least to me. Okay, he had some redeeming qualities, like his absolute loyalty to his friends and an almost uncanny ability to get out of serious scrapes, but even a year of actually knowing him later, I still have trouble seeing him as anything but a dork.

The totally horrible guys included Jeremy Lambert, the asshole I introduced you to at the beginning of this story, and Martine Rousseau. They are the couple every teenage movie has, the one perfectly compatible, good-looking couple that is destined to win Prom King and Queen before the actual protagonist couple arrives on the scene. All except for the fact that they aren’t actually a couple, just partners in pissing me off and lording over the school.

It’s hard to say when our rivalry began; could be back when we were three and he’d peed all over Cole’s sandcastle, and I’d punched his stupid face so hard he’d gone crying to his mother about it, which had then resulted in my being carted off the sandbox by my embarrassed mother, or maybe even before that. All I know is, I’ve always hated both of them with a vengeance, and the feeling is reciprocated. Our fights will probably go down in the annals of history, and the walls around our school are probably imprinted with our blood, from various parts of our bodies being slammed into them regularly.

Then there’s Michael. If I believed in the institution of making friends, I suppose Michael Cole would be one. Our mothers were best friends, and we went to karate classes together. As it is, I think of him more as an ally. An ally who happens to be almost as smart as I am, and probably a comparable enough fighter. Which was one of the reasons I kind of liked him.

That brings us to Root. Wait, you know what, that does not bring us to Root. I’d like to have at least one chapter of my life not infected by the virus that happens to go by the name Root. Besides, it’s not like she’s not going to be making an appearance later on. In a way, this story of mine is basically a story about that asshole. My story ends with her, I’d rather it didn’t begin with her, too.

                                                                       *****************

“And it doesn’t even look like you have any qualms, any regrets about what you did to Mr. Lambert…..”

Regrets? The only regret I was having right now was that I hadn’t hit him hard enough. If I was going to go down, I would have preferred to go down after making a pulp out of his bones.

The principal of Aberford High was an old bastard named John Greer, and I’m not just throwing abuses around. That guy deserved it. He still deserves it. I have never in my life seen a guy like him, one who could sound super polite while charring you into dust with the flames of his words. Face full of so many wrinkles you’d half expect it to fall out, and voice so old he was practically ancient history, still he kept himself alive by feeding on the dreams and hopes of students. That was part of the reason we hated each other.

The rest of it was that he was Jeremy’s uncle.

“This is the third time you’ve been involved in an act of acute violence in the premises of this school. Have you anything to say in defense of your actions, Miss Shaw?”

I pondered for a while, then let it go. It’s not like ‘He started it’ could be considered as adequate justification, anyway. Besides Greer had been out for my blood ever since he became the administrator of this fine establishment, so I didn’t think anything I could say would make a whole lot of difference, except for an added number in the amount of detentions I was going to get.

“I suppose we’ll have to consider suspension or recording this in your permanent school records……..”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait. Permanent records? No, you can’t do this. I have had good grades and a 3.25 grade average up till now. I’m going to college next year, you can’t jeopardize my chances of…..”

Med school was the only thing I had going for me, to be honest. I had been working my ass off the past three years, and something like this could influence the way colleges saw my application. Who the hell would consider my application, if they found out my hands could hurt as well as they could heal.

He smiled, enjoying this “But if this seems to be the only way to keep you from hurting your fellow innocent students”, he trailed off into silence.

At the same time I thought “Innocent students?”, there was a knock on the door, and both Greer and I turned our heads to see the school counselor, Harold Finch standing in the doorway.

“Sir, if I may interject?” he says.

“Mr. Finch, I’m with a student right now. Didn’t my assistant inform you of this before you barged in here?”

“Actually, she isn’t at her desk right now, and it’s actually about the student that I wanted to talk to you about. I think what you are planning to do may be taking things a little too far. Miss Shaw has been a perfect student, in all her classes, and this may ruin her chances of getting into a good college.”

“I’m afraid I can’t see how this is any of your business, Mr. Finch.”

“It is, actually. Miss Shaw happens to be a regular student of mine.”

Okay, backing up a bit. I had seen Mr. Finch around school a few times, hobbling along the corridors, but so far the only interaction I’d ever had with him was a ‘Good morning’, and even that he initiated. I literally had no idea why he was standing up for me. But far be it from me to question a free gift from the heavens.

“Is she, now?” Greer stared suspiciously at Mr. Finch “Well, even if she happens to be coming regularly to you for counseling sessions, we can hardly ignore the fact that other students have complained about her methods of violence.”

“Other students like Jeremy Lambert, for example? Because I hardly think Miss Shaw is the only one at fault. I have accounts of other students who have seen Mr. Lambert attack Miss Shaw almost as much as Miss Shaw has been caught fighting. If Miss Shaw has to be punished, I am sure justice only dictates that the same punishment be meted out to the other student involved in this situation.”

Greer scowled, and I mentally cheered. Now he either had to punish Lambert too, along with me, or let me go, else word would spread about his nepotism.

“But if I could suggest an alternative solution, it would be appropriate to have Miss Shaw continue her sessions with me, and then you could hand out a minor suspension and as many detentions as you think would suffice, to both her and Mr. Lambert,” Mr. Finch said, in that awkward way of his,with his stance saying he was aware of what predicament he had landed Greer in.

Greer, knowing he was defeated, pretended to think about Mr. Finch’s offer for all of five minutes, then with a sigh and a wave of his hand, agreed grumpily.

                                                                            *****************   

Mr. Finch was surprised to see me waiting outside Greer’s office when he came out, fifteen minutes later.

“Miss Shaw,” he greeted me.

“Why did you do that back there?” I questioned him right off the bat “Lie for me like that. I don’t even know you personally.”

He smiled “That may be so, but everyone deserves a second chance. Besides, what he was doing was, if not entirely wrong, a tad bit unjust, seeing as Mr. Lambert was not being reprimanded the same way.”

“Oh,” I said, still a little suspicious of his motives “I owe you one, I guess.”

He’d started walking away by then but on hearing my words, stopped, turned around and regarded me for a while.

“You certainly do, Miss Shaw,” he finally told me “Next Tuesday after school, in my office. I’ll be expecting you.”                                                                   


	2. Not knowing can be pretty okay

If somebody had told me, a few years ago, that a day would arrive in the future where I’d be sitting in Harold Finch’s office, watching him drink tea (because no amount of coercion on anyone’s part could have convinced me to give up black coffee in favor of something as stupid as _green tea_ ), and holding an actual conversation, I’d probably have given them a black eye. Or two. Because no way could it be true. And it wasn’t. At least, the talking part wasn’t.

                                                                              *****************

_“Not talking?” John turns to me, incredulous “I bet you were talking plenty about how desperately you loved, lived and longed for…..”_

_“Don’t make me regret letting you read this, Reese.”_

                                                                              *****************

**Session 1**

Tuesday had been a pretty weird day. Not only had I not been involved in any major fights, I was actively trying to keep my head down, and get through all of my classes without making a peep. I caught Lambert and his minions staring at me weirdly, a couple of times, but I ignored them to pay attention to my books, choosing to wield the pen rather than the sword (by that, I mean the metaphorical one, not, you know, an actual sword). So the final bell signaling the end of all classes at school saw me standing awkwardly in front of Mr. Finch’s office, waiting for the student inside to come out.

Thankfully I didn’t have to wait long. Ten minutes later, the door abruptly opened, and John Reese stepped out, his eyes widening the slightest bit when he saw me (not that the total extent of his surprise could ever be gauged by his expression; you could attack both him and a tree with an axe, and the tree would probably show more pain than him), but he recovered quick.

“Shaw,” he acknowledged me “Didn’t know you met with Harold.”

Harold? What was up with him and our guidance counselor being on a first name basis?

“I could say the same about you,” I shot back “And, I don’t………not really. This is gonna be my first session. And preferably, my only one.”

He chuckled, as if enjoying an inside joke “Okay, Shaw. See ya around.”

I shook off the weirdness, and knocked on the door, entering when Mr. Finch called out a “Come in”.

The room was full of books, there was a computer on the desk with motherboards and wires spread around it, and Mr. Finch was delicately sipping on something out of a plastic cup. These were the first three things I noticed. Then my attention went to the dog sitting dutifully beside Mr. Finch’s chair, and after that, I didn’t see anything else.

Dogs are kind of my thing. I’ve never really been able to figure out what it is that draws me to them, but I guess it must be something with their eyes. Their eyes are so…….expressive, and you can just feel their absolute loyalty, their unwavering adoration ooze out of them, every time they look at you. Whatever you do, they’ll love you. You could mess up your life, somebody else’s life, it wouldn’t matter to them. You could be the biggest asshole on this planet, it wouldn’t matter to them. They are the one constant in your life. They don’t care if you’re weird, or strange. They don’t stop loving you. They never leave.

“Bear seems to have taken to you, Miss Shaw,” Mr. Finch said, five minutes later, when I’d finally stopped scratching the dog (was his name Bear?), and Bear was still licking my hand. I pulled myself up and away from him, and sat on the other chair in the room.

“I like dogs,” I told him.

“Evidently,” he replied.

Then we fell into silence. It was awkward. And very silent. It was because I had barely noticed the guy around school, and now I was sitting in front of him, staring at the too-cluttered desk, covered with computer parts (and I had not known Mr. Finch was into electronics). I’d read about this whole psychotherapy thing for a while, when my mother had contemplated sending me to one, and I’d read an article where they said that doctors let the room steep in silence, soak in so much quiet, that the patient finally can’t stand the roaring in his head, and starts talking.

You’d think that would have taught me.

“This isn’t gonna work on me, you know,” I broke the silence.

Mr. Finch raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything.

“This whole…….staying silent till I start speaking thing.”

He smiled “I would have thought it had started working already.”

“No, this was just me saying that I wasn’t going to say…….well, anything,” I told him, ran over the statement in my mind, and realized how stupid I’d sounded. I leaned forward, and looked him straight in the eye “I don’t know why I’m here.”

“That day, outside the principal’s office, you’d thanked me for getting you out of trouble, and told me you owed me a favor. I’m collecting it now.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I simply want you to meet me twice a week, for hour-long sessions.”

Okay. So this was it.

“Why?”

“I just think it would benefit you greatly to talk to someone on a regular basis.”

“Look, Mr. Finch, I don’t need help. I don’t know what you’ve heard, but if you think that talking with me is going to solve a lot of problems, you’re, well, woefully wrong. I’m fine the way I am, I don’t somebody poking in my brain to find out what’s wrong with me……”

“What makes you think there’s something wrong with you?” he asked.

“I don’t think there’s something wrong with me,” I said, unnerved by how calmly he was sitting in the face of my outburst, and still sipping from his damned cup “It’s just that, people think there’s something wrong with me.”

“I’m not exactly like other people, Miss Shaw.”

I had noticed. Fifteen minutes in a room with him and I was drowning in his weirdness.

“What harm could it possibly do to you if you turn up here twice a week for an hour, and hang out for a bit with my dog and myself? It would only convince Mr. Greer that I was in fact telling the truth, that you _do_ come to me for counseling sessions, and it would keep you out of further trouble with him. Would that be so bad?”

I thought it over. As much as I couldn’t understand why he wanted all of this, he was making a valid point. It wouldn’t hurt if Greer saw me duck into the guidance counselor’s room every once in a while. And it would give me the added benefit of getting to see Bear. Besides, it wasn’t like he could force me to talk to him.

“Okay,” I said “But I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t help anybody.”

“Let’s see about that,” he murmured, and for a moment, he almost looked smug “Until then, I’d be very thankful if you would help me rearrange some books on my shelves.”

I got up, and set to work, setting books according to their subject of study. A few mindless minutes later, I turned to him.

“I still don’t know what I’m doing here.”

“That’s okay,” he replied, enigmatically “Sometimes, not knowing can be pretty okay.”

                                                                              *****************

**Detention 1**

My life sucked. On a level, I’d established that pretty early. It had always sucked, and would always suck. Maximum Suckaway was the setting on my life-o-meter and I was pretty much used to it. That should have meant that when I walked into the classroom where I was to stay two hours for detention, it would be tolerable enough that I could sit quietly in a corner, and fantasize about the different ways I could murder Lambert .

God, my life sucked.

Lambert and two of his minions had declared all out war on Fusco, and Reese being the hero that he was, just had to get involved. Kara had probably decided that this spat wasn’t worth getting her nails chipped, and was doodling on a notebook on a desk slightly removed from the chaos, occasionally calling out encouragement from her perch. Carter was missing, but then she’d always been a pretty out-of-trouble person from the start, so I wasn’t really surprised at her absence. A few other people were watching the proceedings from a safe distance, and they turned to stare at me when I entered.

So did Reese “Hey, Shaw,” he called out, out of breath from currently punching one of Lambert’s bros “We….bam….really should……bam……stop….meeting like…….this.”

I stopped and gave him an unimpressed look “Nice technique, but you really should stop hitting on his face. It’s gonna create a visible wound, and if Greer hears about that…..”

He stopped mid-punch, as if considering, and that gave the hapless teacher a chance to bring things to order again. With a few tentative, hesitant orders, she finally got all the students settled into their seats, and Reese and Lambert on opposite corners of the room. I sat down somewhere, hoping I could at least get some of my homework done in peace and……..

“Hey kids,” called out a voice that I knew too well “Did you miss me?”

If you could take one irritating trait from every horrible person you met and put it all together, you’d probably get Root. It is a little difficult to point out exactly what it is that annoys me about her because, God, there is so much. She flirts incessantly, has an uncanny ability of sneaking up on you anytime you _do not_ want her to sneak up on you, can almost always predict what you want to do and has. Absolutely. No. Idea. Of . Personal. Space. Specifically, mine.

Also, she’s pretty fucking hot.

Granted, the last part wasn’t really a reason to hate her, but if somebody is that much of an asshole, you’d at least want them to look the part. Instead, she’s got legs that go on for days, and wonderful, long, wavy hair, and she’s really, really smart (and whoever said brainy was the new sexy was definitely speaking the truth).

I hated her. And the way I was the one she’d apparently imprinted on. I have lost track of the number of times she’d popped up at my locker, flirting overtly with me, or smiling widely at me in the middle of class, or asked me out during breaks. The way she was always trying to get into my personal space.

I admit she was hot, and sometimes I had even come close to making out with her at some jock’s party. But there was no way this……me and Root, would ever progress beyond the stage where she’d give me some lame come-on and I’d retort back with a resounding no. Feelings were not exactly my strong suit, and I didn’t want to deal with them, especially not in my senior year.

There was no way I’d ever feel anything except for annoyance when it came to Root.

And there was absolutely no way I’d ever be in a…….shudder…….relationship with her.

                                                                              *****************

_Root turns to look at me, mirth dancing in her eyes “Oh,sweetie.”_

_God, I hate her._

 


End file.
